First Week At ABSU
1311 Words
The gate of Abia State University was taller than Ada expected. The iron bars were painted green and white, and students pushed through it like water through a broken dam.
_I’m really here,_ she thought. _ABSU. Medicine and Surgery. Ada Obinna.
Her hostel was called Samaru. Block C, Room 12. The paint was peeling and the bathroom smelled like Izal and wet socks. But it had a bed. A small window. A locker with a key.
It was hers.
Then she saw students taking selfies on campus. Girls in crop tops and bone-straight wigs. Boys with iPhones and fresh tims. They looked like they came from another world. A world with data and Uber and lunch money.
She was so excited she joined them to take pictures. She stood at the edge, smiling, trying to copy their poses.
People around noticed she was new to the environment and laughed at her. Her church sandals. Her market bag. The way she said “please” too much.
Some called her “village girl.” Others said “mumu” — foolish.
One girl looked her up and down and whispered, “JAMBite,” like it was a curse word.
But Ada didn’t mind. Her joy was bigger than their jokes. She was in school. And she knew she would learn it all soon enough. She would learn how to talk like them. Dress like them. Maybe even take selfies like them.
Then the call came. Tuesday. 2:14pm. Week 1.
Ada was in GSS 101, borrowing a biro, when her phone vibrated. Mama.
“Ada.” Mama’s voice was flat. Like when tomatoes don’t sell.
“Your father has gone.”
The class didn’t disappear. The biro didn’t drop. But ABSU stopped existing.
Flashback — 6 hours earlier, Ngwa Road, Aba
Papa was teaching. SS3 Physics. Chapter 7: Structural Load. He wrote F = MA on the board. Chalk broke. He bent to pick it. Didn’t stand up.
Heart attack. The students thought he was demonstrating gravity.
He wasn’t.
Back to ABSU
“Come home,” Mama said. Then the line died. MTN.
Ada stood up in GSS 101. The lecturer was saying something about plagiarism. Ada walked out. No bag. No biro.
She didn’t cry until she saw the bus. _ABSU_ written on the side. The same bus that made her happy 3 days ago.
So I won’t be trekking to school like I used to back in the village.
But Papa would never see her on that bus.
She sat on the ground at the bus park. People called her “village girl” again. This time she agreed. Village girls go home when fathers die.
Things changed fast after that.
Orientation week ended and real lectures started. GST 101. BIO 111. CHM 101. The lecturer’s voice was too fast. His handwriting on the board was small. Ada copied notes until her fingers cramped, but when she read them at night, half of it didn’t make sense.
“What is mitosis?” she whispered to the girl next to her.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Google it.”
Ada didn’t have data.
A time came when life got hard. Eating three square meals became a struggle. Not just because money stopped coming. Because Mama was now paying hospital bills and funeral bills and Papa’s debt.
The N20,000 her father gave her for the whole month finished in 10 days. Hostel levy. Handouts. Lab coat. A bucket and a stove.
It became hard for her parents to send her money again — because there was only one parent. And Mama was drowning.
Ada started figuring things out on her own. She soaked garri for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She walked from Samaru to the faculty because Keke was N100 and that was a sachet of water and a biscuit.
She asked some friends for help, but none could give her anything. They were all “managing” too. The girls who laughed at her had aunties in Port Harcourt sending them money. Ada had nobody.
On the third Friday, her stomach was burning. She hadn’t eaten since Wednesday night. The garri was finished. Her roommates were all out. The room was hot and silent.
She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The fan made a clicking sound. Click. Click. Click.
_Is this what 275 costs?_ she thought. _Hunger? Shame?_
She remembered the day her JAMB result came out. Her mother danced in the compound. Her father called his brothers. “My daughter scored 275! Medicine and Surgery!”
Nobody told her 275 would feel like this.
There was a knock on the door.
Ada didn’t answer. She didn’t have energy to stand.
The knock came again. Then the door opened.
A girl walked in. Tall. Light-skinned. She had on a red bonnet and short leggings. Her nails were long and pink. She looked like those girls from the selfies.
“You’re Ada, right?” The girl dropped a plastic bag on Ada’s locker. “I’m Lisa. I stay next door. Room 14.”
Ada sat up. “Hi.”
“You haven’t come out since yesterday. Are you sick?”
Ada shook her head. She didn’t want to say “I’m hungry.” The word felt too heavy.
Lisa looked around the room. At the empty garri bowl. At Ada’s cracked lips. She didn’t ask again.
Instead, she opened the plastic bag. The smell hit Ada first. Fried rice. Chicken. Plantain.
Ada’s stomach growled so loud Lisa laughed.
“Eat,” Lisa said. “Before you collapse and I have to explain to the porter.”
Ada didn’t need to be told twice. She washed her hands and dug in. It was the best food she’d ever tasted. Better than Christmas rice. Better than her mother’s Sunday soup.
When she was done, she felt human again. She felt like maybe she could survive ABSU.
“Thank you,” Ada whispered. “I’ll pay you back.”
Lisa waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. We JAMBites have to help each other.”
She sat on Ada’s bed like they were already friends. “So, Medicine and Surgery? That’s tough o. How are you coping?”
Ada told her. About the fast lectures. The handouts. The girls who called her mumu. About Papa.
Lisa listened. She didn’t laugh. When Ada finished, Lisa nodded.
“ABSU will humble you,” Lisa said. “But you’ll learn. We all do.”
She stood up to leave. At the door, she turned. “Ada, if you ever need help… I mean _real_ help. Not just food. Come to me. There are ways to survive here. Ways to not be hungry again.”
Ada didn’t understand. “What ways?”
Lisa smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll see. Just know Room 14 is open.”
She left.
Ada locked the door behind her. She looked at the empty takeaway pack. At her fingers that still smelled of fried rice.
For the first time since she got to ABSU, she wasn’t hungry.
But something about Lisa’s smile made her stomach twist anyway.
*The next day, she went back to class. Not GSS 101. Anatomy.*
She opened _Gray’s Anatomy_ for the first time. Not for the test. For survival.
Because Papa taught Physics and died of the heart.
So she would learn the heart. And fix it for the next person’s Papa.
*275 wasn’t just her JAMB score anymore.*
It was the number of days between Papa’s burial and her first Anatomy test.
It was the number of times Mama said “read your book” instead of crying.
It was the price of her bus ticket back to school after the funeral.
Papa died explaining Force.
Ada lived to become the Acceleration.
And somewhere in Room 14, Lisa was waiting.
- Writer
